Chapter 17 : Chapter 17
Chapter 17. Old John Can’t Keep Steaming Anymore
Vivian’s sudden change of attitude softened her voice considerably, leaving Eve wondering what new trick Vivian was about to pull.
Even so, she stood up first and walked cautiously to the bedside, not sitting down immediately.
“Sit,” Vivian repeated.
Eve sat down. The mattress sank slightly as the two of them sat side by side. For a moment neither spoke, and the ticking of the clock became clear again.
“Besides your name, what is your surname?” Vivian suddenly asked. Her eyes were fixed on the mural on the wall ahead rather than on Eve.
“Replying to the Young Lady, I do not have a surname. My name is simply Eve.”
“None? Judging from the way you carry yourself… you do not seem like someone of ordinary background.”
A good attitude often earned the same in return, and Eve responded in kind. “I am merely a maid employed by the Hessein Family. Nothing more.”
Another stretch of silence followed.
Then Vivian turned her head and studied Eve seriously this time, her gaze traveling from silver hair to crimson eyes, then to the bridge of her nose and her red lips.
“What is the Young Lady worried about?” Eve suddenly asked.
“Huh? What could I possibly be worried about?!” Vivian snapped, her voice rising as she glared at Eve’s profile in dissatisfaction. Whether the question had struck a nerve was something only she herself knew.
Soon after, however, she shrank slightly, hugging her pillow and muttering in a small voice, “Since you were planted here by my father, you must have come with some mission, right?”
“Replying to the Young Lady, no.”
“I don’t believe that. That old man must have sent you here to watch me! And if not that, then there has to be something else!”
“There truly isn’t…” Eve replied helplessly.
Why was it that telling the truth only made people less willing to believe it? She was not that idle.
The Hessein Family Head was merely a bridge between factions and also connected to the higher authorities, so she had indeed been sent here as a pair of eyes.
One could say it was surveillance.
But the person being monitored was not Vivian.
“I don’t care. That’s exactly what it is!”
“If the Young Lady says so, then so it is.”
What else could she do? She might as well go along with it. A child having a lively imagination was not a bad thing.
It kept her from wearing that stiff expression all day. And right now, was she not rather adorable?
“Hmph, I can’t be bothered arguing with you,” Vivian said, turning her head away. She crawled toward the head of the bed and began rummaging through the cabinet beside it.
Soon she pulled out an extremely thick book and casually tossed it backward. Eve caught it precisely, while Vivian hid herself under the blanket.
After a full day of activity, she was already exhausted. Once Vivian settled into a comfortable position, she let out a long breath and stared at Eve.
“Tell me a story.”
Hmm?
Eve lowered her head and glanced at the heavy book in her hands. The title read Ten Thousand Bedtime Stories.
So Vivian wanted her to tell a story to lull her to sleep.
Eve asked calmly, “What kind of story would the Young Lady like to hear?”
“Anything,” Vivian said, seemingly closing her eyes, though she deliberately left a small slit to observe Eve. “As long as you can tell it. Or what—can’t you read?”
“I can certainly read.”
“Then start already,” Vivian waved her hand impatiently. “Do not pick some childish fairy tale to brush me off. I have heard those a thousand times. And move closer. I do not feel like turning my head just to listen.”
“Understood.”
Eve complied and shifted closer, sitting upright with perfect posture. She placed the book on her lap and opened it.
Only then did Vivian secretly open her eyes.
From this angle, she could see Eve’s lowered eyelashes.
Quite pleasing to look at…
Meanwhile, Eve flipped through the table of contents and selected a story she did not consider childish, turning to the indicated page somewhere past the hundredth.
“This story is called ‘Old John Who Was Always Steaming’…”
“Wait. What kind of title is that?”
“I do not know either.”
“Tsk… keep going.”
Eve continued in a flat, emotionless tone, reading aloud.
“The protagonist of the story is a retired soldier. His comrades all called him Old John. He had served for fifteen years, and during the final battle of his service, he was shot eight times in the chest.”
Vivian raised an eyebrow.
“But he survived,” Eve continued.
“Survived after being shot eight times? Are you joking, or is the story joking?”
Interrupted again, Eve did not grow irritated. Instead, she patiently explained.
“That is because there were eight items in the chest pocket of his military uniform.”
“They were a brass pocket watch from his daughter, a silver necklace from his wife, a steel cigarette case left by his brother, his father’s old water flask, a wooden slingshot made by his son, a fountain pen given by his mentor, a coin pressed into his hand by a comrade before parting, and a protective charm from his mother.”
Vivian stared at her.
Her face clearly said: What nonsense are you talking about?
Yet before she knew it, she had unconsciously become an attentive listener. Adjusting her posture on the bed, she leaned a little closer.
“Every bullet hit that pocket? What kind of luck is that?”
“Since this is a fictional bedtime story, I hope the Young Lady will not dwell on irrelevant details,” Eve paused before adding, “Although I also find it rather absurd.”
Vivian froze briefly.
For once, she did not argue or question further. Instead, she stared at Eve for a moment before finally snorting softly.
“Continue.”
“Afterward, Old John retired and returned to the farm in his hometown. He believed he would spend the rest of his life in peace—watching his daughter marry and his grandson grow up. But on a night of the full moon, the farm was attacked.”
“It was neither bandits nor wild beasts. The attacker was a Vampire.”
At that point, even Eve was a little surprised. Her reading pace slowed without her noticing.
“His entire family died beneath the sharp claws and fangs of the Vampire. Old John survived only because he hid inside a concealed compartment in the barn. Through the cracks, he watched the farmhouse engulfed in flames and listened as the screams gradually faded away.”
Eve turned the final page.
“At dawn, after the Vampire departed, Old John crawled out of his hiding place and stood before the ruins. He touched the pocket on his chest. Inside were the same eight items that had once saved his life.”
“He realized that he had once been a soldier, yet he had feared death and hidden away while his family was slaughtered before his eyes. In the end, he drew the pistol he carried with him and used the last bullet to shoot himself.”
Eve closed the book.
“The story is over, Young Lady.”
Silence filled the room.
After a long while, someone finally broke it. Vivian.
“A Vampire?”
“Young Lady, are you not aware of them?”
“Of course I am!” Vivian retorted immediately, pouting in displeasure at being questioned. “I just wonder if such things actually exist. I have never seen one.”
Eve silently mocked her in her thoughts. If you had seen one with your own eyes, that would be a real problem.
She reopened the book and found the appendix near the back.
“There is a description here. Vampires are said to be an immortal race, naturally bloodthirsty and varied in form. They usually have pale, cold skin, crimson pupils, and sharp fangs.”
“Some individuals possess incredible abilities, such as extraordinary speed or the power to control minds.”
After reading the passage, she lifted her gaze—only to find Vivian staring fixedly at her.
“Pale, cold skin… crimson pupils?” Vivian repeated slowly, her eyes scanning Eve’s face again and again.